Prince Slayer
by Jakkani
Summary: A Sindorei and a human meet in the undead forest outside of The Scarlet Monastery.


"Hey, Princeslayer..."

Julian Ryth-Tristan's head snapped in his direction abruptly, his green eyes glowing fiercely in the darkness.

"Don't call me that," he hissed fiercely, trying to keep his voice to a whisper. "Watch your tongue, lest I pull it out! Julian is my birthname!" He loathed the human already, and it had only been an hour since they met.

"I meant no harm, love." Julian could tell, even in the darkness, that the human flipped his hair in that feminine way he constantly did. That, too, was annoying. He wished nothing more than to leave this place and leave the human to rot, but he couldn't. Not just yet.

"Name's Tyrion. You're a Sindorei. You can see better than I, no?" His voice was, as always, calm and even.

"Yes, I can. If I so choose."

"Then tell me, what do you see?"

His eyes darted around, absorbing every detail of The Scarlet Monastery. The cold stone of the castle rose, imposingly, into the sky, blotting out the full moon. The guards no longer buzzed about restlessly like bees in a disturbed hive; it had been hours since they barely escaped with their lives.

Dark gray clouds littered the skies, shaped as if an artist had slashed them on with a brush. The grass was dead for miles around, the countryside pockmarked with holes and scars. The cold, too, seemed undead; it cut through leather, cloth, flesh, and bone, and chilled a man to the bone. Or, in this case, a man and a Blood Elf.

"They're human." He turned to Tyrion, who still waited anxiously for his report. "Why did they try to kill you?"

He sighed. His breath was visible.

"Two reasons. One, they consider any outsider to be tainted by the scourge. Two, I looted their graveyard three nights ago."

Tyrion hissed again, this time in frustration. He was stuck here, in the cold, and the only civilization for miles was a hostile organization.

And he was stuck with a _human, _squatting on a hill overlooking Scarlet Monastery. This would be a hilarious story to tell, should he ever make it back to SIlvermoon. Ah, Silvermoon. The forests tranquil, the moon's light gentle. The people—

"…Group?"

Julian blinked, confused. "What?"

"So what happened to your group? I'm sure you were here with other Horde."

"Oh… no. I was sent here on business. Not for the Horde, but for the SIndorei. And, _human_, I'm not going to tell you of that business." He turned around where they squatted in the dirt, and lay on his back, watching the moon. A chorus of howls broke the deathly silent night, as Tyrion turned and did the same. Then he sat up, hugging his knees close to his chest.

"What will we do, Princeslayer? Where will we go—" Julian was on him in an instant, tackling and straddling him, his hand wrapped around the smaller human's throat as he sat on his chest. His other hand was pulled back, forming a fist to beat his face in. His eyes, a furious green, flickered bright.

"Do NOT call me that NAME!"

The words stirred deep memories to the surface of his conscience, memories that scarred him. He was in the throne room, his brother dead at his feet. The sword fell from his grip as the bloodlust left him; humans and elves alike flooded the room, gasping and stuttering, at the blood that was shed.

Tyrion looked up at him, his hazel eyes filled with fear. He squirmed, choking, and tried to peel the hand away from his throat to no avail; the Blood Elf's grip was like iron.

After a moment, Julian sat back, pulling his hand from Tyrion's throat. He coughed and squirmed beneath his hips, catching his breath. He derived a sick pleasure from watching this human cough his lungs up. He stopped coughing, finally, and laid his head back; enjoying every deep breath he took.

Julian, at this moment, realized that he was still straddling the human boy. His brow furrowed in embarrassment as he dismounted him, standing above Tyrion, who merely sat there breathing. He was a priest, and was wearing cloth; he could barely, by moonlight, make out a lump on Tyrion's crotch.

He laughed, out loud, at the human. Julian sat up. "What are you laughing at?"

"You're pitiful. It's funny to me."

Tyrion stared at him in confusion, then looked down at himself, and suddenly blushed with shame. He shrunk into himself, covering his crotch. He looked as if he wished to be somewhere else.

"Look, I'm going to bed. We'll figure out what we'll do in the morning."

Julian strode away, leaving him alone.


End file.
